“Hey, you ready?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Heck yeah. We’re gonna knock this one outta the park!”

“Damn straight. Oh, shh, they’re about to pull the curtain.”

 

Something about the stage.

Telling a story,

Cooperating constantly,

Gliding across the stage as

A single move of a greater dance.

Addicted to fantasy?

Possibly.

Probably.

Or maybe I’ve twenty personalities,

All ready to show themselves as characters,

Embodiments of their other natures,

Branching selves,

Contained in a single mind.

 

Something about the stage.

Searing spotlights.

Sweaty costumes.

A-hole actors and

Disagreeable directors.

Am I a masochist?

Possibly.

Probably.

Or maybe a sadist,

As I laugh at their struggles

And fatigue

As I move with a boundless energy,

Limitless passion,

Boiling inside.

 

Something about the stage.

Rolling laughter.

Little sniffles.

Roaring cheers and

Thundering applause.

Totally self-centered?

Possibly.

Probably.

Or maybe an entertainer,

Dedicated to my craft

And craving feedback,

Knowing that I did my job

To move the audience,

And did it well.

 

Something about the stage.

Something just right.

Just as much work as school

But a million times better.

 

Something about the stage.

Something I can’t place.

It feeds my soul

And focuses my mind.

 

Something about the stage

Just makes everything right

Come the end of the day.